Immediately all the wild geese shrieked:  “Here the peasants live like gentlemen.  Here the peasants live like gentlemen.”

On the plains the ice and snow had disappeared, and the spring work had begun.  “What kind of long crabs are those that creep over the fields?” asked the boy after a bit.  “Ploughs and oxen.  Ploughs and oxen,” answered the wild geese.

The oxen moved so slowly down on the fields, that one could scarcely perceive they were in motion, and the geese shouted to them:  “You won’t get there before next year.  You won’t get there before next year.”  But the oxen were equal to the occasion.  They raised their muzzles in the air and bellowed:  “We do more good in an hour than such as you do in a whole lifetime.”

In a few places the ploughs were drawn by horses.  They went along with much more eagerness and haste than the oxen; but the geese couldn’t keep from teasing these either.  “Ar’n’t you ashamed to be doing ox-duty?” cried the wild geese.  “Ar’n’t you ashamed yourselves to be doing lazy man’s duty?” the horses neighed back at them.

But while horses and oxen were at work in the fields, the stable ram walked about in the barnyard.  He was newly clipped and touchy, knocked over the small boys, chased the shepherd dog into his kennel, and then strutted about as though he alone were lord of the whole place.  “Rammie, rammie, what have you done with your wool?” asked the wild geese, who rode by up in the air.  “That I have sent to Drag’s woollen mills in Norrkoeping,” replied the ram with a long, drawn-out bleat.  “Rammie, rammie, what have you done with your horns?” asked the geese.  But any horns the rammie had never possessed, to his sorrow, and one couldn’t offer him a greater insult than to ask after them.  He ran around a long time, and butted at the air, so furious was he.

On the country road came a man who drove a flock of Skane pigs that were not more than a few weeks old, and were going to be sold up country.  They trotted along bravely, as little as they were, and kept close together—­as if they sought protection.  “Nuff, nuff, nuff, we came away too soon from father and mother.  Nuff, nuff, nuff, how will it go with us poor children?” said the little pigs.  The wild geese didn’t have the heart to tease such poor little creatures.  “It will be better for you than you can ever believe,” they cried as they flew past them.

The wild geese were never so merry as when they flew over a flat country.  Then they did not hurry themselves, but flew from farm to farm, and joked with the tame animals.

As the boy rode over the plain, he happened to think of a legend which he had heard a long time ago.  He didn’t remember it exactly, but it was something about a petticoat—­half of which was made of gold-woven velvet, and half of gray homespun cloth.  But the one who owned the petticoat adorned the homespun cloth with such a lot of pearls and precious stones that it looked richer and more gorgeous than the gold-cloth.